Bishops, Priests, and Deacons, are not commanded by God’s Law, either to vow the estate of single life, or to abstain from marriage: therefore it is lawful for them, as for all other Christian men, to marry at their own discretion, as they shall judge the same to serve better to godliness.
by the Rev. Ian Lasch
The History
While clerical celibacy does have a long history in the Western Church, it was not (or at least not uniformly) the practice of the earliest Christian clergy. Debates about whether or not clergy could (or should) marry were ongoing for the first four or five centuries. The scriptural support for it is certainly something less than conclusive, based primarily upon Jesus’ insistence that not marrying is better than divorce (in Matt. 19:3-12) and some of Paul’s urgings that it is better to be unwed rather than distracted by passions or by concern for one’s family (1 Cor. 7:8-9; 32-35). (Interestingly, of course, Paul seems very careful to qualify this recommendation, making clear that it is not a requirement.) There is additionally a set of suggested qualities or virtues for bishops in 1 Tim. 3:1-3 that has been translated various ways, including sometimes (such as in the Didascalia Apostolorum) as “chaste.” However, it’s difficult to see in this a prescription for even unmarried bishops, since the second quality in this list for bishops is “married only once,” and the passage goes on to recommend that bishops’ children be of the ruly, rather than unruly, variety. Scripture also makes it clear that Peter was married.
These scriptural passages, along with some additional reflections on sexual ethics from the early Church Fathers (among them Tertullian, Jerome, Augustine, and Ambrose), are eventually turned into a hard and fast rule, though it’s possible to trace its development throughout history. The earliest actual canon regarding celibacy, for example, coming from the Council of Elvira (c. 305), does not preclude married clergy, but rather prescribes a lack of sexual relations with their wives on the part of those married men who become clergy. Presumably, this would be a difficult canon to enforce, which could explain why the requirement eventually becomes more stringent. In the Council of Nicea, clergy are prohibited from cohabitating with subintroducta, a term used to refer to unwed women who were spiritual companions. Interestingly, exception is made for family members or “such persons as are beyond all suspicion”, a phrase that would seem to make it clear that the concern was in having clergy refrain from sexual relations with these subintroducta. There is, additionally, a (possibly apocryphal) story from Nicea of a Bishop Paphnutius giving an impassioned plea not to require celibacy on the part of priests and deacons.
The delightfully named Quinisext Council, or Council in Trullo (692), condemns the extant practice among some African bishops of continuing to live with their wives; a practice which it considers to be scandalous. It immediately goes on to say, however, that presbyters, deacons, and subdeacons should also no longer live with their wives, but should continue marital relations with them at convenient times, except at such times as they are expected to serve at the altar and handle the Holy Mysteries, even suggesting than anyone seeking to prevent such marital relations be deposed. (Rome, of course, does not recognize this Council.)
The question of clerical celibacy was still arguably not completely settled, even in Rome, by the time of the First and Second Lateran Councils, since they saw the need to explicitly forbid cohabitation with wives in the case of the first, and declare marriages taking place after ordination to be void in the case of the second. The latter position is once again reiterated at the Council of Trent in 1549. It is interesting to note that even Rome has nowhere made it explicit that only the unwed are to be ordained.
And of course, we must mention that while the principle that clergy ought to remain celibate was already in existence in his time, it ends up being bolstered a good bit in current Roman Catholic thought by none other than Thomas Aquinas, surprising no one. For Thomas, of course, it is a matter of virtue, and more specifically the virtue of continence. Thomas breaks from Aristotle in his discussion of continence: whereas Aristotle considers continence to be related to virtue, in that it is the resisting of evil desires, Thomas instead sees continence as “abstention from all venereal pleasure,” and thus just as much a virtue as virginity is (ST, II-II Q155 A1). There is not time or room to completely solve the question of clerical celibacy in relation to the virtues, particularly given the fluctuation of associated terminology over the years, but it is nevertheless important to note that Thomas gives significant fodder to the Roman Catholic requirement of abstinence on the part of clergy.
The Reformers, while likely not unaware of at least a significant portion of this history, nevertheless ultimately came to reject it. Which brings us back to…
The Article
Of the various forms that the Thirty-Nine Articles take, Article XXXII falls into the category of those that are most clearly a repudiation of Roman Catholic practice at the time (and since). It is also one small foray into the fraught topic of Christian sexual ethics, so we should be careful here about what the Article is and is not saying. While some of the other Articles that reject Roman Catholic teaching are more sweeping in their condemnation of certain “Romish doctrines,” Article XXXII is clearly not intended to say that clerical celibacy is “a fond thing, vainly invented” (cf. Article XXII). It doesn’t seek to prescribe marriage for all clergy, nor to say that sexual ethics are unimportant. It simply rejects clerical celibacy as a requirement, saying that the reasons given for the practice are ultimately unconvincing. Article XXXII was something of a shift even for England, as Article III of the 1539 Six Articles originally affirmed clerical celibacy in the English Church, from passage until repeal in 1547.
It sounds strange, perhaps, to modern ears that so much of the history of the Western Church was committed to clerical abstinence from intercourse even while allowing marriages (and sometimes even cohabitation) to continue. It is possible, in the wake of the sexual revolution, to view a concern with abstinence as backward or antiquated or (if you’ll forgive the completely anachronistic misnomer) joylessly puritanical.
It is frequent to hear calls lately for the Roman Catholic Church to abolish the requirement for clerical celibacy as a way of reforming that institution and of addressing the scandal of widespread sexual abuse. But clerical celibacy isn’t entirely unreasonable, and clerical marriage is not simply a means to an end. In fact, clerical celibacy arose out of a sincere concern with virtuous living, especially for those who were leading and serving as an example to a congregation. It sought to balance the concerns of doing right by one’s spouse with a need to take sexual ethics seriously, and the specific dangers that sexual temptation and unhealthy attitudes toward sexuality can present. What’s more, the Thirty-Nine Articles had no intention of saying that we should no longer concern ourselves with such things as sexual ethics. They simply held that the scriptural case for clerical celibacy was unconvincing, and that while celibacy may in fact be ideal for some clerics, there is not enough evidence to believe it is desirable for all. Far from simply permitting or prescribing a position, Article XXXII seems to take for granted the practice of discernment on the part of the individual cleric as to what style of life, married or celibate, is most likely to serve them in their pursuit of godliness.
In some sense, then, rather than dictating a position to be accepted, Article XXXII dictates a posture to be assumed – that of prayerful discernment of God’s will, and of contemplative self-awareness for what is most conducive to one’s own growth into the full stature of Christ.
The Rev. Ian Lasch is Rector of Grace Episcopal Church in Jefferson City, MO, and co-host of the Rite and Musical podcast.
The Offering of Christ once made is that perfect redemption, propitiation, and satisfaction, for all the sins of the whole world, both original and actual; and there is none other satisfaction for sin, but that alone. Wherefore the sacrifices of Masses, in the which it was commonly said, that the Priest did offer Christ for the quick and the dead, to have remission of pain or guilt, were blasphemous fables, and dangerous deceits.
by David Mahfood
Introduction: Atonement and the Eucharist
Article XXXI has two components: a broad statement about the nature of Christ’s atoning work as a certain kind of offering, and a polemic against the Roman Catholic understanding of the Mass as a sacrifice—the latter of which is supposed to follow from the former. Because Article XXXI shows up in the context of other articles on the Eucharist rather than, say, nearer to those on the Person of Christ, or on the doctrine of justification, the emphasis seems to fall on the second component, what is said about the Eucharist: the opening statement about atonement is functioning as a warrant or justification for what follows, rather than itself being the central point.
Confessional statements are usually not written simply to summarize the core elements of the faith in a neutral and disinterested way; they are produced in the midst of ongoing conflicts. And here, we can see that conflicts about core theological claims gain urgency and significance in how they play out in worship. In talking about the early ecumenical councils and creeds, theologians often observe that the Church did not canonize a particular doctrine of atonement the way they canonized key Trinitarian and Christological claims. In Article 31, the Anglican Church makes a claim about the atonement, because it has to in order to answer a pressing practical question about the Eucharist—to wit, does the priest offer a sacrifice there which brings remission of sins, perhaps for the dead as well as the living? To see what the article is doing in answering the latter question, we can start by thinking through what it says about Christ’s work, and then see how that is applied to the question of the Eucharist.
I. Atonement: redemption, propitiation, and satisfaction
First, the article tells us that Christ has made something called an offering—and that he did it once. Something has been given, with sacrifice (in its theological connection to the Temple sacrificial system) pointing us to the fact that the recipient of this gift is God. The context of the Eucharist makes it clear that the offering in question is Christ’s life, given at the cross—the article is insisting that when Christ dies, he is making an offering to God. Moreover, this offering is a perfect one, and is in some way adequate to resolve the problems posed by sin (and all sin, at that).
To call Jesus’s death an offering raises many questions—in what way is Jesus’s execution a gift to God? Isn’t it an unjust killing by corrupt human powers? Why would that be a gift to God? In what way does it resolve the problems posed by sin? And what are the problems posed by sin, for that matter? While the article doesn’t give definite answers to questions like this, it does elaborate somewhat by the terms it applies: redemption, propitiation, and satisfaction. Each of these terms alludes to scripture and tradition, and each is suggestive of different ways of thinking about the problem of sin and the way that the cross is a solution to it.
“Redemption” refers to buying someone out of bondage; to say that Christ redeems us is to say he pays a price to free us. This language recalls God bringing Israel out of slavery in Egypt: the God of Israel is a God who redeems, who does what is necessary to liberate God’s people. There is a cost to setting us free, but in Christ, God fully bears this cost on our behalf. Who, if anyone, is receiving this payment? Patristic theologians like Origen and Gregory of Nyssa suggested that Christ in some sense offers his own life as payment to the devil in order to purchase those in bondage to the devil—not unlike Aslan offering himself to the White Witch in Edmund’s place in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. One might wonder why God should need to pay the devil at all—does God negotiate with terrorists? Gregory of Nyssa suggests that God saves by an act of ransom payment (in part) to display the excess of divine justice, offering a price the devil would accept voluntarily rather than overruling the devil by force, even though God had every right to do so. Alternatively, images of Christ as offering himself as a literal ransom to the devil might be thought of as metaphorical, mythic depictions of the fundamental truth that there was in fact a cost involved in saving us, namely Christ’s own life, exacted by the powers from which Christ was working to free us, and that in Christ God paid this cost, fully and completely. This could be so even if no one named or accepted Christ’s life as a ransom payment.
“Propitiation” is the idea of placating or appeasing an offended party, assuaging anger. Likewise, “satisfaction” involves fulfilling a debt, especially a debt incurred by some wrongdoing. To offer satisfaction would be an act of propitiation. Propitiation goes back to the way some have thought Hebrew sacrifice to address sin, offering God something valuable (namely the life of an animal) in order to avert wrath brought on by sins. The term satisfaction likewise has ancient roots in Christian thought, especially associated with the practice of penance. It appears in the Rule of St. Benedict, for instance, where it describes a prescribed act of repentance monks would be required to make before being accepted back into their community’s liturgical life after committing a very serious sin. It came to be applied to the doctrine of atonement in a thoroughgoing way by St. Anselm of Canterbury, who envisioned Christ’s willingness to give his own life as an infinitely valuable gift outweighing the infinite debt of sin.
These terms tend to call up images of angry feudal lords, or harsh judges bent on exacting strict justice of every crime. The idea of propitiating God or offering satisfaction can seem quite at odds with the idea of a gracious and forgiving God. It can suggest an angry father who only sets aside his anger after he has poured it out on an innocent victim who voluntarily steps in out of compassion for us.
But given that Article I insists that the Trinity is one God, and this God is “without passions,” it cannot mean here in Article XXXI that God is literally overcome with rage that just has to be vented, or that the Father is angry and demands justice while the Son wants to protect us. Salvation must be altogether a unified act of the one God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And it can’t take the shape it does because of an opposition between love and justice, because this would be akin to saying God has potentially conflicting parts.
A better way to understand these concepts is to say that satisfaction is an expression of mercy as much as of justice. Why? We can think of it like this: God gave humanity a high calling and intended to reward us for fulfilling it. When we failed to live up to that calling and instead caused a great deal of harm to God’s creation, God did not destroy us for it—but nor does God set aside our high calling. Instead, God comes to fulfill that calling in every respect as a member of the human family, and offer complete satisfaction for the harm we caused. That is what it means to say Christ makes perfect satisfaction and propitiation for us. In his perfect faithfulness, preaching and embodying truth and justice even unto death, Christ offers what God initially asked of humanity, and more—indeed, more than enough to set things completely right. Christ then shares the reward he merited with all who join themselves to his self-offering by faith.
II. Atonement and Eucharistic Sacrifice
So much for what this article says about Christ’s work—how does this bear on the Eucharist? The second sentence of the article seems intended to address the Roman Catholic practice of viewing the Mass as itself a propitiatory sacrifice which can be offered to the benefit of individuals, that is, to obtain grace for them, remission of their sins, and so forth. The argument Article XXXI makes regarding this practice is simple enough: Christ’s work on the cross was perfect satisfaction for all sin, therefore no further satisfaction is needed, therefore the Mass cannot be further satisfaction. No need for Christ to be offered again to obtain remission of sins for anybody.
Now, although in the Thirty-Nine Articles, the concept of sacrifice is only affirmed of Christ’s atoning work, Article XXXI is compatible with calling many other aspects of the Christian life “sacrifice,” such as the “sacrifice of praise.” Indeed, Christians are called to offer themselves as a living sacrifice through the way we love and serve one another (Romans 12). Such sacrifice might well be offered during the Eucharistic service, and so for that reason it can be appropriate to talk about the Eucharist in sacrificial terms. What this article denies is that Christ’s body and blood are literally offered again in the Eucharist (or indeed that they are literally present at all—on which see Article XXVIII).
It should be said that the Catholic view is not that the Mass is another sacrifice; it is the same one offering of Christ, but now presented “in an unbloody manner” through the ministry of the priest. And so, perhaps this view does not contradict the truth that there is “none other” satisfaction for sin but that which Christ achieved on the cross. And yet, there is as crucial difference here about how that satisfaction is accessed and received. On the Catholic view, it is possible to receive grace through the Mass—albeit grace that was merited by Christ at the cross—because it is the one perfect offering presented again. On this view, it is possible to offer this sacrifice for another person not present (even souls in Purgatory), meriting the grace of repentance for them. The Articles teach, on the contrary, the grace merited by Christ’s satisfaction is accessed only by faith in the heart of the believer—not by re-presenting the self-offering of Christ, but simply by believing in the offering already made.
David Mahfood serves as Assistant Professor of Theology at Johnson University’s Florida campus. When he isn’t talking about St. Anselm, David enjoys fantasy novels, video games, and TV shows. He lives in Kissimmee with his wife Johannah, son Matthew, and daughter Katie.
The Cup of the Lord is not to be denied to the Lay-people: for both the parts of the Lord’s Sacrament, by Christ’s ordinance and commandment, ought to be ministered to all Christian men alike.
by Laudable Practice
A dead letter?
Surely it is a dead letter. Is there any meaningful sense in which
Article XXX has contemporary relevance? After
all, the Catechism of the Catholic Church
declares:
the sign of communion is more complete when given under both kinds, since in that form the sign of the Eucharistic meal appears more clearly[1].
Similarly, the General Instruction of the
Roman Missal states of communion in both kinds:
this clearer form of the sacramental sign offers a particular opportunity of deepening the understanding of the mystery in which the faithful take part[2].
It is thus, perhaps, unsurprising that the
ARCIC I Agreed Statement on Eucharistic Doctrine made no reference to the
historic division, instead seemingly assuming that communion in both kinds
would be normative in both Anglican and Roman traditions:
in and by his sacramental presence given through bread and wine, the crucified and risen Lord, according to his promise, offers himself to his people[3].
Despite such welcome signs of convergence in Eucharistic doctrine and practice, however, a note of caution is appropriate. The Catechism of the Catholic Church also affirms the practice of communion in one kind:
For pastoral reasons this manner of receiving communion has been legitimately established as the most common form in the Latin rite.[4]
It does indeed certainly continue as a “common form” in the Roman tradition. What is more, since Benedict XVI’s Motu Proprio ‘SummorumPontificum,’ the increase in provision of Mass in the Extraordinary Form has also led to a renewed practice of communion in one kind. For example, the ‘Guidelines for the Reception of Communion during the extraordinary form of the Mass,’ issued by the Irish Catholic Bishops’ Conference, state:
Communion is received under one kind only, to emphasise the Church’s teaching that Christ is received whole and entire under the appearance of bread or wine[5].
The Chair of the Latin Mass Society in the
UK has also emphasised how receiving in both kinds is incompatible with the
Extraordinary Form:
Introduction into the Extraordinary Form of the distribution of the Chalice to the Faithful would create both a practical and theological dissonance in this Form of the Roman Rite[6].
Mindful of the thankfully transformed
ecumenical context, in which Anglicans and Roman Catholics frequently attend
Eucharistic celebrations in each other’s tradition, of the Anglican commitment
to Eucharistic hospitality to those baptised in the name of the Holy Trinity,
and of the welcome and support to be given to inter-church families, there is
good reason for Anglicans to receive afresh the teaching of Article XXX in
order to encourage a more vibrant catechesis concerning the gift of communion
in both kinds.
Given
That said, the ecumenical context alone does
not determine the significance of this Article for contemporary
Anglicanism. Article XXX also provides a
means of more generally deepening Anglican eucharistic teaching and devotion. In The
Apology of the Church of England, Jewel emphasises how the restoration of
communion in both kinds was a renewal of a dominical gift, witnessed to in the faith
and practice of the apostolic and patristic churches:
Moreover, when the people cometh to the Holy Communion, the Sacrament ought to be given them in both kinds: for so both Christ hath commanded, and the Apostles in every place have ordained, and all the ancient fathers and Catholic bishops have followed the same. And whoso doth contrary to this, he (as Gelasius saith) committeth sacrilege[7].
A similar emphasis is found in the Book of
Homilies:
This we must be sure of especially, that this supper be in such wise done and ministered, as our Lord and saviour did, and commanded to be done, as his holy apostles used it, and the good fathers in the primitive church frequented it[8].
The language of the Article itself – “the Lord’s sacrament,” Dominici sacramenti – powerfully captures this understanding that the Eucharist is the Lord’s gift to the Church, “Christ’s ordinance,” not ours. In the words of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, “he hath instituted and ordained holy mysteries”[9]. Fidelity to the practice of communion in both kinds embodies this truth and is the means of our participation in it. We receive in both kinds because the Lord said “Drink ye all of this.” It is the gift of the Lord, which we receive. Communion in both kinds, therefore, brings us close to the heart of the sacramental economy, the sacraments as sign and gift given and bestowed by the Incarnate Word:
Who hath ordained the Sacraments? Not any Prelate, not any Prince, not any Angel, or Archangel, but only God himself. For, he only hath authority to seal the charter, in whose authority only it is to grant it. And only he giveth the pledge, and confirmeth his grace to us, which giveth his grace into our hearts[10].
As a renewal of apostolic and patristic practice, communion in both kinds also conforms us to the witness and teaching of the Great Tradition, in particular that of the churches of the Latin West prior to the disordering of eucharistic practice through late medieval innovations[11]. The fact that Jewel quotes Gelasius, a 5th century bishop of Rome, regarding communion in both kinds, is particularly indicative of this. This is part of a pattern in which he invokes “bishops of Rome in the primitive Church” against a range of late medieval Latin eucharistic practices. Article XXX and the practice of communion in both kinds manifests the continuity of Anglicanism with the Eucharistic faith of the “Catholick and Apostolick Church,” not as sufficient condition for such continuity, but as a required condition: what Ambrose or Augustine would recognise as basic Eucharistic practice.
Sacrifice
Classical Anglican critique of communion in one kind drew attention to how it disrupted the sacramental sign. The Homily on the Sacrament warned that “the author” of the sacrament must be heeded, “lest, of two parts, we have but one.” Jeremy Taylor similarly urged against going “from receiving the whole Sacrament to receive it but half”[12]. This continues to have relevance in a contemporary Anglican context in which the Eucharist as fellowship meal, rather than the “Sacrament of our redemption by Christ’s death”[13], can be evident, a fruit of the “shallow and romantic sort of Pelagianism” which Michael Ramsey perceived in aspects the Parish Communion movement[14].
There is
why attention should be given to the particular significance in the relationship
between “The Cup of the Lord” and the Eucharist setting before us “the merits
and death of thy Son Jesus Christ”[15],
“the merits of the most precious death and passion of thy dear Son”[16]. In the words of Jeremy Taylor:
Whatsoever the Spirit can convey to the body of the church, we may expect from this sacrament; for as the Spirit of Christ is the instrument of life and action, so the blood of Christ is the conveyance of His Spirit[17].
Partaking
of the Cup – “his blood in the Sacrament of Wine”[18] – in
a particular manner sets before us the Lord’s sacrifice, recalled in the
Eucharist as “commemorating rite and representment”[19]. As
Fleming Rutledge states with admirable clarity:
The use of the phrase “blood of Christ” in the New Testament carries with it this sacrificial, atoning significance in a primordial sense; we cannot root out these connections even if we want to[20].
This is
evident in the third Exhortation in the 1662 rite:
the innumerable benefits which by his precious blood-shedding he hath obtained to us.
It is,
however, in the the words of administration for the Cup in the classical Prayer
Book tradition that the particular relationship between the Cup and the
sacrificial commemoration of the Eucharist is given most its profound and
beautiful expression:
The Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life: Drink this in remembrance that Christ’s Blood was shed for thee, and be thankful.
The repetition of “shed for thee,” rather than being awkward and unnecessary, is an almost poetic device unfolding to the communicant the assurance of the tender mercy poured out in and through “the death of Christ, and of the benefits which we receive thereby”[21].
To partake of “The Cup of the Lord,” then, is to encounter the gift and reality that the Eucharist is “not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another,” for “the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ”[22]. That “primordial sense” referred to by Rutledge is presented to our senses, is tasted by us, the effectual sign of the fruit of sacrifice made present in the Eucharist:
Who knows not Love, let him assay And taste that juice, which on the cross a pike Did set again abroach, then let him say If ever he did taste the like. Love is that liquor sweet and most divine, Which my God feels as blood; but I, as wine[23].
Sign
Herbert’s
words are also a reminder of how communion in both kinds – the giving of the Cup
and the taste of sacramental wine – is a constitutive part of Anglicanism’s
native piety and eucharistic devotion. Practical
aspects of the liturgy ensured that this was so. From 1552, the sacrament was
administered to communicants “in their hands”[24]. The Canons of 1604 required the churchwardens
to provide “for every Communion … good and wholsome Wine”[25].
These practical provisions brought communicants to experience a key aspect of
the Anglican critique of transubstantiation, that this doctrine “overthroweth
the nature of a Sacrament” as it denied the reality of the sign: “after the
words of consecration … in the chalice there is no wine”[26]. Against this Taylor insists:
the senses are competent judges of the natural being of what they see, and taste, and smell, and feel[27].
This draws the communicant to experience “the nature of a Sacrament,” the correspondence between sign and thing signified, between outward, visible sign and inward, spiritual grace. The Catechism points to this, with “refreshing” connected with the sign of wine:
The strengthening and refreshing of our souls by the Body and Blood of Christ, as our bodies are by the Bread and Wine[28].
In the Prayer
of Humble Access this correspondence between sign and thing signified is given compelling
liturgical expression:
Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood.
It is not, of course, that the gift of the Lord’s Blood has a redemptive significance different to or apart from the Lord’s Body, but it is that the sign of wine corresponds to another aspect of the one mystery of our redemption, that “full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction.”
Partaking of the Cup brings us through our senses to be touched by the fullness of the “these holy mysteries.” Thomas Ken captures this in his Eucharistic devotions for “After Receiving the Cup,” ‘thick’ with the imagery of refreshment, festivity, and nuptial love associated with wine, corresponding to the blessing and merits of the thing signified, “thy precious blood”:
Glory be to Thee, O Lord Jesus, who permittest me to drink of the fountain of life freely!
My Beloved is mine, and I am his!
Blessed Saviour, Thou hast Loved us, and washed us from our sins in Thy own bloud, and therefore to Thee be Glory and Dominion, for ever and ever. Amen, Amen.
Glory be to Thee O Jesus, My Lord, and my God, for thus feeding my Soul, with thy most blessed body and bloud, O let Thy Heavenly food transfuse new life, and new vigour into my Soul[29].
Conclusion
The
teaching of Article XXX on the reception of the Cup of the Lord, rather than
being a relic from a long-past and now resolved debate, should continue to have
a vibrant significance for the Anglican tradition. Not only does it address a matter with ongoing
ecumenical relevance, it also offers a means of entering into the richness of
classical Anglican eucharistic teaching and piety. Receiving afresh this Article can be a mean
of means of renewing that teaching and piety:
… especially in the sacraments, where the word is preached and consigned, and the Spirit is the teacher, and the feeder, and makes the table full, and the cup to overflow with blessing[30].
Laudable Practice is the pen name of a blogger living in Northern Ireland. He is a priest in the Church of Ireland.
[11] Jewel, ibid., notes of
the eucharistic controversies: “This matter these two or three hundred years
late past, hath been encumbered with many questions and much controversy”.
[12] Jeremy Taylor, A Copy of a
Letter Written to a Gentlewoman Newly Seduced to the Church of Rome.
[13] Article XXVIII: “verum
potius est sacramentum nostrae per mortem Christi redemptionis”.
[14] Michael Ramsey, ‘The Parish Communion’ in Durham Essays and Addresses (1956), p.18. He continues: “I miss too often, in these
parish Communion services, the due recognition in teaching and atmosphere … of
the awful fact of the one, sufficient sacrifice of our Lord on Calvary”.
[15] The post-Communion Prayer of Oblation, Holy Communion 1662.
[16] The post-Communion Prayer of Thanksgiving, Holy Communion 1662.
[18] Jewel, A Treatise of the
Sacraments: “For here, in a mystery and Sacrament of bread, is set before
us the body of Christ our Saviour; and his blood in the Sacrament of Wine”. The phrase is taken from Augustine, whom he
quotes: “S. Augustine calleth this holy mystery, Sacramentum panis &
vini: ’The Sacrament of bread
& wine’.”
[28] 1662 Catechism, in answer to “What are the benefits whereof we are partakers thereby?”.
[29] Thomas Ken, A Manual of
Prayers for the Use of the Scholars of Winchester College (1675). Note the different imagery employed in the
devotions for “After Receiving the Bread”: “Glory be to Thee, O Lord, who
feedest me with the bread of life. O Lord God, who didst sanctifie us, by the
offering of the body of Jesus once for all, sanctifie me, even me, O Heavenly
Father!”.
The Cup of the Lord is not to be denied to the Lay-people: for both the parts of the Lord’s Sacrament, by Christ’s ordinance and commandment, ought to be ministered to all Christian men alike.
by the Rev. Elizabeth Hadaway
Added in the revisions of 1563-1571, Article 30 counters a clericalist practice gradually developed and recently (in 1415) codified in Roman Catholicism, where only the presider drank. It is no requirement for all communicants to receive in both kinds, as pastoral rubrics elsewhere in the Book of Common Prayer show. Rather, Article 30 emphasizes that Bishops, Priests, and Deacons are orders within, not above, the community of the baptized.
The Western church’s removal of the cup from the laity had met resistance, famously from Jacob of Mies and Jan Hus. “In response to Bohemian utraquists who insisted on the right of the laity to receive the chalice, the Council of Constance in 1415 declared communion sub una [in one kind] to be the law of the church….No such development took place in Eastern Christianity” (Huels 240).
Later reformers were well aware that the Council of Constance had also executed Hus. This did not stop them from following his example of looking to scripture and church history for guidance.
Scriptural warrants for communion in both kinds include Matthew 26.26-30, Mark 14.22-25, Luke 22.17-20 and 1 Corinthians 11. Of these passages, Martin Luther, in The Babylonian Captivity of the Church, says “as Matthew, Mark, and Luke all agree, Christ gave all His disciples both kinds. And that Paul gave both kinds is so certain that no one has had the effrontery to say anything to the contrary. A further fact is that, according to Matthew, Christ did not say of the bread, ‘All of you eat of this’; but He does say of the cup: ‘All of you drink of this’; and in Mark He does not say: ‘All of you ate’, but ‘All of you drank from it’. Each writer attaches the mark of universality to the cup, but not to the bread. It is as if the Spirit foresaw the coming division forbidding the communion of the cup to some, though Christ would have had it common to all” (257-258).
“All” means all disciples of Christ, “all Christian men alike,” in the Article’s words and with both Luther’s and the Article’s assumption that all persons in attendance have already been baptized. Article 30 is definitely not an argument for attempting “communion without baptism.” Instead, reception in both kinds follows from baptism.
“Just as the rites of baptism and absolution are administered to the laity in their full form,” Luther says, “so also should the complete sacrament of the Supper, if asked for,” be administered (259). Turning from Scripture to the history of the church in North Africa, Luther cites St. Cyprian, who “testifies that it was the custom in the church at Carthage to give both kinds to many of the laity, even children; and he provides many examples” (262-263). Cyprian’s examples, quoted by Luther, include a young girl.
Anticipating an attack on the practice of administering in both kinds as undisciplined, Luther points out that the church at Carthage did require those receiving to be prepared, quoting Cyprian’s On The Lapsed, book V: “The sacrilegious man is wrath with the priests when he is not forthwith given the body of the Lord thought his hands are unwashed, or allowed to drink the blood of the Lord though with unclean lips” (263).
By praising Cyprian as a teacher martyred for refusing to follow the rites of the pagan Roman state, Luther connects Jan Hus to the ancient tradition of martyrdom for the Gospel.
Thomas Cranmer will make that connection in his own death and in his life. In A Defence of the True and Catholic Doctrine of the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Our Saviour Christ, with a Confutation of Sundry Errors Concerning the Same, Grounded and Stablished upon God’s Holy Word, and Approved by the Consent of the Most Ancient Doctors of the Church, Cranmer citesJustin Martyr as “the oldest author that this day is known to write any treaty upon the sacraments” (88). Finding the earliest doctrinal source matters intensely to the reformers, and what Cranmer finds here is communion in both kinds for those who dare to be publicly committed followers of Jesus.
Cranmer reports his discovery like long-hidden treasure, saying that Justin Martyr: “writeth in his second Apology, ‘That the bread, water, and wine in this sacrament are not to be taken as other common meats and drinks be, but that they be meats ordained purposely to give thanks to God, and therefore be called Eucharistia, and be called also the body and blood of Christ. And that it is lawful for none to eat or drink of them, but that profess Christ, and live according to the same” (Cranmer 88-89).
Under capitalism, later readers might be tempted to think of “profession” only as “a job that makes money.” So it matters very much that we distinguish between the world’s vocabulary and the church’s terms. We also need to do this with the Article’s term “Lay-people.” The secular world often uses the word “laypeople” to mean the unprofessional, or unqualified. Such terms have developed from “professionals”—doctors or lawyers, for example—considering themselves to have achieved a kind of priesthood. However, when it comes to Communion, all baptized persons are to profess Christ crucified. Baptism itself is a public profession of following Jesus, for an eternal living.
Ordination does not make anyone a better follower of Jesus. As Justin Lewis-Anthony writes, suggesting a set of boundaries for priests to make clear to their parishioners, “I am not a ‘professional’ Christian; I am an amateur at this. I am doing it, not for money, nor status, nor power, but for the love of it (for the love of him). Don’t think that I can carry your need for holiness as well as my own. Let’s carry them together” (187).
In both elements of communion, Cranmer has already sensed this carrying together. From the “great number of grains” joined together to make one loaf, and the many grapes pressed together to make wine, “likewise is the whole multitude of true Christian people spiritually joined, first to Christ, and then among themselves together, in one faith, one baptism, one holy spirit, one knot and bond of love” (Cranmer 72).
Cranmer’s analogy appeals to the senses. In The Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, Richard Hooker develops that aesthetic appeal as a more detailed argument for reception in both kinds. “Wisdom to the end she might save many built her house of that nature which is common to us all,” Hooker says (224). These are common elements—the house wine, our daily bread—and yet they carry the holiness of Jesus Christ.
We hope to grow toward Christ in holiness, and the very fact that receiving in both kinds takes time and repetition (and occasional messiness) is a reminder that growth takes time and repetition (and occasional messiness). As Hooker puts it, “We receive Christ Jesus in Baptism once as the first beginner, in the Eucharist often as being by continual degrees the finisher of our life” (259). Receiving in both kinds offers an example of “continual degrees” even during the wait between the bread and the cup; it is a counsel to patience with ourselves and others as we move from glory to glory.
Such brilliant polishing is a continual process. “The grace which we have by the holy Eucharist doth not begin but continue life. No man therefore receiveth this sacrament before Baptism, because no dead thing is capable of nourishment” (Hooker 348). Sacramental life begins at baptism, but it does not end there. Hooker takes infant baptism as a given, but even as adults we can be spiritual infants. Always we are called to a greater perception of how God nourishes us for the journey towards holiness. “Whereas therefore in our infancy we are incorporated into Christ and by Baptism receive the grace of his Spirit without any sense or feeling of the gift which God bestoweth, in the Eucharist we so receive the gift of God, that we know by grace what the grace is which God giveth us” (Hooker 348). This knowledge comes through our senses. It is not merely a symbol; it is embodied in the “gifts and creatures of bread and wine” (Book of Common Prayer 335). Through them, as with the disciples at Emmaus who met Jesus on the road—and with Hus and Cranmer, burned at the stake—our hearts gradually catch fire.
Elizabeth Hadaway (@e_hadaway) is Priest Associate at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Buffalo, New York. As Leigh Palmer, she held a Wallace Stegner Fellowship at Stanford. Her book Fire Baton (University of Arkansas Press) won the 2007 Library of Virginia prize in poetry; The Journal of Inklings Studies (8.1) features her commentary with Rowan Williams and Malcolm Guite on Joy Davidman’s sonnets, and her chapter “Poet, Priest, and ‘Poor White Trash'” concludes Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy (West Virginia University Press, 2019).
Works Cited
Book of Common Prayer. New York: Church Publishing, 1979.
Cranmer, Thomas. A Defence of the True and Catholic Doctrine of the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Our Saviour Christ, with a Confutation of Sundry Errors Concerning the Same, Grounded and Stablished upon God’s Holy Word, and Approved by the Consent of the Most Ancient Doctors of the Church. In The Work of Thomas Cranmer. Ed. G.E. Duffield. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1965.
Hooker, Richard. OfThe Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity. Book V, Vol. 2. Collected by John Keble.
Ellicott City, Maryland: Via Media, 1994.
Huels, John M. The New Dictionary of Sacramental Worship. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1990.
Lewis-Anthony, Justin. If You Meet George Herbert on the Road, Kill Him: Radically Re-thinking Priestly Ministry. New York: Mowbray, 2012.
Luther, Martin. Selections From His Writings. Trans. Bertram Lee Woolf. New York: Anchor, 1961.
XXIX. Of the Wicked Which Eat not the Body of Christ in the Use of the Lord’s Supper
The Wicked, and such as be void of a lively faith, although they do carnally and visibly press with their teeth (as Saint Augustine saith) the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ, yet in no wise are they partakers of Christ: but rather, to their condemnation, do eat and drink the sign or Sacrament of so great a thing.
by Richard Pryor, III
Article
XXIX came into being in the 1571 edition of the Articles of Religion, the last
to be published in the reign of Queen Elizabeth I.[1] Historically, this Article can
be traced all the way back to the Apostle Paul and his manducatio impiorum (eating by the impious), who wrote in his first
letter to the Corinthians that “Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks
the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and
blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink
of the cup. For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and
drink judgment against themselves.”[2]
Ultimately, this idea became more common in the Formula of Concord in the The Book of Concord, a Lutheran document published thirty years after Luther’s death – “Whether in the Holy Supper the true body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ are truly and essentially present, are distributed with the bread and wine, and received with the mouth by all those who use this Sacrament, whether they be worthy or unworthy, godly or ungodly, believing or unbelieving; by the believing for consolation and life, by the unbelieving for judgment? The Sacramentarians say, No; we say, Yes.”[3]
Paul’s words to the Corinthians also offer a second doctrine – the manducatio indignorum (eating by the unworthy). While the manducatio impiorum might have gotten most of the attention in this modern era (at least according to my Internet searches), it is clear that the Apostle is much more concerned about the unworthy. “Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup,” he instructs. “For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. For this reason many of you are weak and ill, and some have died. But if we judged ourselves, we would not be judged.”[4]
Christ’s
presence in the Eucharist is a mini Judgement Day for us over and over, day by
day, week by week, and so on and so forth. In the Catechism of the 1979 edition
of The Book of Common Prayer of The
Episcopal Church (TEC), the following two dialogues are next to each other in
the section entitled “The Holy Eucharist.”
Q. What are the benefits which we receive in the Lord’s Supper?
A. The benefits we receive are the forgiveness of our sins, the strengthening of our union with Christ and with one another, and the foretaste of the heavenly banquet which is our nourishment in eternal life.
Q. What is required of us when we come to the Eucharist?
A. It is required that we should examine our lives, repent of our sins, and be in love and charity with all people.[5]
“This
is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the
forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, do this for the remembrance of me.”[6] Our new
Covenant, instituted in the Eucharist and sealed in Christ’s body and blood,
promises us the Kingdom of God, which we shall inherit, being made worthy
through the forgiveness of God through Jesus Christ.
Being forgiven, whether granted by ourselves, those we are in relationship with, or by God, requires the self-examination that Paul and the Catechism both speak about. In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul’s call echoes throughout the realms of time and space – “Examine yourselves to see whether you are living in the faith. Test yourselves. Do you not realize that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless, indeed, you fail to pass the test!”[7] And as the author of 1 John notes, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.”[8] Only by knowing ourselves and studying our lives can we effectively confess our sins and purify ourselves.
In
our context, a faithful understanding of the manducatio indignorum and the manducatio
impiorum offer us, no matter our positions on the importance of the
Articles in our lives and practice, guidelines for our relationship with Christ
in the Eucharist.
The Confession of Sin is mandated at most Eucharists in the Episcopal Church (TEC) (and not to get on a tangent, but this is one of the reasons I oppose getting rid of it for the Easter season); for this very reason, and at one extreme, priests are given the option to bar people who are living “notoriously evil lives”[9] from receiving the Eucharist until there is “clear proof of repentance and amendment of life.”[10]
Similarly, the Constitution and Canons of TEC are quite clear that none shall be admitted to Communion who have not previously been baptized. As the Theology Committee of the House of Bishops of TEC wrote in 2009, “Baptism unites one to Christ. One receives thereby Christ’s own Spirit as the power to lead a reformed, Christ-like life. In the eucharist one actually draws upon that life-giving Spirit, which comes to us through the gift of Christ’s own humanity to us in the elements, to grow into and sustain under trial a Christ-like transformation of life.”[11]
From
reading those last two paragraphs, we might be inclined to take Article XXIX,
the manducatio indignorum, and the manducatio impiorum for granted in TEC
and the Anglican Communion. However, we are always called to more in our
relationship with Christ, and in remembering the guiding principles that Paul
set out.
As the “Prince of Preachers,” Charles Spurgeon wrote: “we know Christ and are known of him, and this is our life’s work to go on to know him yet more and more, and to know the Father in him.”[12] We know Christ through encountering Him, and if our life’s work is to know him yet more and more, we must keep encountering him. We make it harder to encounter Christ when we sin – one word in Ancient Greek for sin, ἁμάρτημα, is derived from ἁμαρτάνω, meaning to miss the mark, or to fail at, amongst other meanings.[13] And ultimately, the manducatio indignorum joins into the manducatio impiorum, as we fail to know, recognize, and believe in Christ if we continue to miss the mark without correction.
In his epistle, James tells us that “every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.”[14] Everything on this Earth has been created by God for us and the use of all living creatures. Knowing God more is learning to see God at work in all of creation and then responding to that knowledge. Our daily or weekly communing with Christ in the Eucharist is a tangible reminder of the encompassing work of God. It might just be a wafer and wine, but through those ordinary objects, we are given that tangible reminder – if only we recognize it for what it is.
Richard Pryor, III, a member of
Christ Church, Kent, is an active layman in the Episcopal Diocese of Ohio and
at the University of the South, where he is a rising senior majoring in
history.
[1] Charles Hardwick, A
History of the Articles of Religion (1856), 351,
http://books.google.com/books?id=rcICAAAAQAAJ&oe=UTF-8.
[11] Theology Committee of the House of Bishops, “Reflections on
Holy Baptism and the Holy Eucharist: A Response to Resolution D084 of the 75th
General Convention,” Anglican Theological
Review (May 2009), 3.
[12] Charles Spurgeon, “Why May I Rejoice?,” Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit Volume (22,
October 1876),
https://www.spurgeon.org/resource-library/sermons/why-may-i-rejoice.
The Supper of the Lord is not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another; but rather it is a Sacrament of our Redemption by Christ’s death: insomuch that to such as rightly, worthily, and with faith, receive the same, the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ; and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ.
Transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of Bread and Wine) in the Supper of the Lord, cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of a Sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions.
The Body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten, in the Supper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner. And the mean whereby the Body of Christ is received and eaten in the Supper, is Faith.
The Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper was not by Christ’s ordinance reserved, carried about, lifted up, or worshipped.
by Drew Nathaniel Keane
The Articles of Religion of the Church of England
reached their final form (in English) in 1571 and were approved by Convocation,
Parliament, and Queen Elizabeth. Convocation had consented to a slightly
different text in 1563 (from which the authorized Latin text of the Articles
dates). You will find the 1571 English text (with updated spelling) in the 1662
prayer book.
In the Edwardine edition of the Articles (the Forty-Two Articles, of which this was the XXIXth) written (primarily) by Cranmer in 1552, the second and third paragraphs read:
Transubstantiation, or the change of the substance of bread and wine into the substance of Christ’s body and blood cannot be proved by holy writ, but is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, and has given occasion to many superstitions.
Forasmuch as the truth of man’s nature requires that the body of one and the self-same man cannot be at one time in diverse places, but must needs be in some one certain place, the body of Christ cannot be present at one time in many and diverse places. Because (as Holy Scripture does teach) Christ was taken up into heaven, and there shall continue unto the end of the world, a faithful man ought not, either to believe or openly to confess the real and bodily presence (as they term it) of Christ’s flesh and blood in the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.[1]
The motivation for the revision seems to have
been strategic not doctrinal. The explanation spelled out there is implied by
Articles II and IV,[2]
but the revised explanation draws instead from what is implied in Article XXV;
namely, if the signs of bread and wine cease to be present in substance but
only seem to be present, then the very nature of a sacrament is contradicted,
since it requires both sign and signified. This revision would make the Article
less offensive to a Lutheran understanding; though, even in its revised form,
it pushes against the Lutheran view. Article XXIX was completely suppressed
until 1571, not because the Elizabethan Bishops disbelieved it, but because of
its offensiveness to Lutherans. From 1555 Lutheranism enjoyed legal protection
within the Holy Roman Empire (a status Calvinism did not obtain until 1648) and
the Pope could not excommunicate the Lutheran princes without provoking the
Emperor. Elizabeth used this to her advantage, successfully avoiding excommunication
until 1570; the papal bull excommunicated Elizabeth for embracing “the impious
constitutions and atrocious mysteries of Calvin” (qtd. from Lindsay, 1913, p.
415).
Article XXVIII consists of four parts, divided
into four paragraphs: (1) a statement or description of what the Lord’s Supper
is; (2) a rejection of the Roman explanation of the mode of communion with
Christ in the sacrament; (3) a statement of the mode of communion with Christ
in the sacrament; (4) a corollary prohibition.
As I explore these paragraphs, I turn to four
English divines as conversation partners: Thomas Rogers, Gilbert Burnet, Bishop
of Salisbury, William Beveridge, Bishop of St. Asaph, and Harold Browne, Bishop
of Winchester. Each of them wrote a highly-regarded Exposition of the Articles: Rogers (1607) represents the Elizabethan era, Burnet (1699) and Beveridge (1716) both represent the
post-Restoration but different parties: one is a Latitudinarian, Arminian, and
Whig, while the other a High-churchman, Reformed, and a Tory. Finally Browne (1860) represents the 19th Century
after the Tractarian movement. A conesus is visible; nevertheless, none of them
merely repeats a settled position. Each engages in original investigation of
the scriptures and fathers (not as independent authorities, but to consider how
the fathers interpreted scripture) in order to test the soundness and explore
the meaning of the Articles.
First Paragraph
The article begins with a description: the
Lord’s Supper is a sign of Christian unity in charity but not only that; it is,
moreover, a means of partaking in Christ’s body and blood. This description
echoes Article XXV: sacraments are not only “badges or tokens” (though they are
that) but “sure witnesses,” “effectual signs,” and, through their due use, God
uses them to work within us. This explanation aligns with Article VII of the
Consensus Tigurinus:
The ends of the sacraments are to be marks and badges of Christian profession and fellowship or fraternity, to be incitements to gratitude and exercises of faith and a godly life; in short, to be contracts binding us to this. But among other ends the principal one is, that God may, by means of them, testify, represent, and seal his grace to us. (Trans. by Henry Beveridge)
The whole Article aligns with the 1549
Consensus Tigurinus or Zurich Accord drawn up by Calvin in consultation with
Bullinger, representing the Zwinglian or Zurich party among the Swiss churches.
The Consensus, twenty-six articles on the doctrine of the Lord’s Supper,
obtained official approval by most of the Swiss churches and earned the respect
of Melanchthon, who agreed to stop writing against the Reformed doctrine after
reading it. The Consensus Tigurinus and English Articles share the aim of
fostering greater unity among Protestants, a theme that Rogers (1607)
highlights throughout his commentary on the Articles.
The word “partaking” in the English edition of
the Articles corresponds to communicatio
in the Latin edition. Bishop Beveridge (1716) notes that the English word
“partaking” and “communion” both answer to the Greek κοινωνία from I
Corinthians 10:16; though in a footnote, he points to Chysostom’s Homily XXIV,
which distinguishes the intimacy of κοινωνία from μετέχω, which commonly
referred to partaking, participation, or sharing in a meal (p. 490).
The Article places emphasis on the activity of receiving: those who receive aright, with faith, partake of Christ’s body and blood by means of eating and drinking the consecrated bread and wine. This active emphasis echoes the end of Article XXV, “in such only as worthily receive the [sacraments], they have a wholesome effect or operation”
and is reiterated in the third paragraph of Article XXVIII.
The focus does not fall on the bread and wine, but on the act of receiving them with faith. Christ is present “after an heavenly and spiritual manner” to the faithful as they participate in the sacrament. The sacrament as such, then, is not simply the consecrated objects, not the signs only, but an activity involving the signs. As Bucer wrote to Cranmer in his Censura of the first edition of the prayer book, “Sacraments exist in their use, they are actions, and apart from this use, as with the bread and wine so also with the water, they remain what the Lord has determined that all bread and wine and water shall be” (qtd. From Amos, 2000, p. 121). The faithful actions correspond to the verba Domini – the giving, taking, and eating of the bread and cup in remembrance of Christ’s death – and facilities communion with Christ, which results in (per Article XXV) the animation and strengthening of faith, the means of communion.
The structure of the 1552 Communion (retained
in 1559, 1604, and 1662) expresses this emphasis by placing the act of
reception immediately after the Words of Institution. As the verba Domini are spoken, the faithful
obey them, without any intervening commentary or supplication. This design
reflects the Augustinian insight that sacraments are verba visibilia, the divine Word made visible in action.
The Second Paragraph
Transubstantiation is next defined and four
reasons are given for its rejection. First, the scriptures do not teach it;
second, it conflicts with what scripture does teach; third, it defies the
definition of a sacrament; fourth it generates superstition.
The definition, “the change of the substance,”
simply translates the Latin word. First used in the 12th Century, Lateran IV
defined it as an article of faith in 1215 (in Canon I). The philosophical
category, substance, essence, or being (derived from Platonic and Aristotelian
discussion of οὐσίαι [ousia]) is not found in scripture; οὐσίαι
is used in the NT only in the common sense of property or worldly goods. The
scriptures say nothing of the οὐσίαι of the bread and wine used for the
Communion ritual. Beveridge observes, “this doctrine…cannot be proved from
the holy Scriptures, is plain from the insufficiency of those places which are
usually and principally alleged to prove it; and they are the sixth of St.
John’s Gospel, and the words of institution” (p. 495). Burnet and Browne
likewise examine these passages. Though not found in scripture, the application
of Article VI leads to another question question: does it follow from or
conflict with what scripture reveals?
The second, more significant objection is that it is “repugnant to the plain words of Scripture.” Rogers, Buret, Beveridge, and Browne all devote many pages to substantiating this claim (demonstrating the seriousness with which they held to Article VI). They all survey Matthew 26:29 and Mark 14:2 (Jesus refers to the contents of the cup he had blessed as “the fruit of the vine,” a falsehood if the substance of wine was no longer present); Genesis 9:4 and Leviticus 17:14 (prohibition on drinking blood); Acts 3:21 (Jesus will remain in heaven until his second coming); I Corinthians 11:20 (Paul says the eating of the bread – not the body – exhibits Christ’s death until he comes, indicating he has not yet).
Third, transubstantiation
conflicts with the Augustinian definition of a sacrament: an outward and
visible sign that conveys an inward and spiritual grace (reflected in Article
XXV). This definition was accepted by Romans and Protestants. A sacrament is a
sign that, when duly used, exhibits a spiritual grace. Transubstantiation
teaches that the signs cease to be substantially present but only appear to be
present.
Fourth, transubstantiation generates superstitions. The trouble with mistaken beliefs is not simply the beliefs – for perfect knowledge is impossible in this life – the trouble lies in the dangerous practices that arise from them. Burnett argues:
We can very well bear with some opinions, that we think ill grounded, as long as they are only matters of opinion, and have no influence neither on men’s morals nor their worship…. and therefore we think that neither consubstantiation nor transubstantiation, how ill grounded sever we take both to be, ought to dissolve the union and communion of churches: but it is quite another thing, if under either of these opinions an adoration of the elements is taught and practiced.
This reasoning aligns with
the teaching of the Homily Against Strife and Contention (1547); the aim of the disciple of Christ ought to be
living obediently, not victory in theological disputes. The sort of
superstitions indicated here are mentioned more specifically in the last
paragraph of the Article, which prohibits them. To these four arguments, Rogers
adds the agreement of all the Protestant Churches, while Bishops Burnet,
Beveridge, and Browne survey patristic sources.
The Third Paragraph
Having rejected transubstantiation, paragraph three returns to a positive statement of the manner by which communion or participation in Christ is facilitated. Emphasis falls on the word “only.” The mechanism that activates this spiritual giving, taking, and eating of the Body of Christ is faith. This statement opposes not only transubstantiation but consubstantiation. Those who participate in the ritual without faith do not interact with Christ at all. The Broken Body and Shed Blood are not present in, with, or under the creatures of bread and wine, but only present to, with, and in the faithful in the act of reception. As for Hooker “the real presence of Christ’s most blessed Body and Blood is not to be sought for in the Sacrament (i.e., in the elements); but in the worthy receiver of the Sacrament” (Lawes V.xvii.6) – a passage Browne approvingly cites. Similarly Burnet says “they are a sacrament only as they are distributed and received” (p. 447). This teaching aligns with Article XXV:
And in such only as worthily receive the same, they have a wholesome effect or operation: but they that receive them unworthily, purchase to themselves Damnation, as St. Paul saith.
Article XXIX spells out the logical
implication:
The wicked and such as be void of a lively Faith, altho’ they do carnally & visibly press with their Teeth (as St. Augustine saith) the Sacrament of the Body & Blood of Christ: yet in no wise are they partakers of Christ; but rather to their Condemnation do eat and drink the sign or Sacrament of so great a thing.
Though not explicitly so, by implication
Articles XXV, XXVIII, and XXIX together with II and IV also exclude a
localized, objective presence in the signs. The rubric concerning kneeling
found at the end of the Communion liturgy (first in 1552, excluded in 1559 to
avoid offense to Lutherans, restored in 1662) makes this implication explicit:
the Sacramental Bread and Wine remain still in their very natural substances, and therefore may not be adored; (for that were Idolatry, to be abhorred of all faithful Christians;) and the natural Body and Blood of our Saviour Christ are in Heaven, and not here; it being against the truth of Christ’s natural Body to be at one time in more places than one.
The Fourth Paragraph
Finally, Article XXVIII, proscribes the
superstitious practices that follow from transubstantiation: “The Sacrament of
the Lord’s Supper, was not by Christ’s Ordinance Reserved, Carried about,
lifted up, or worshipped.” This reiterates the prohibition already made in
Article XXV: “The Sacraments were not ordained of Christ to be gazed upon, or
to be Carried about, but that we should duly use them.”
Rogers explains “the Lord’s supper was
ordained that the bread should only be broken, and eaten, the cup should only
be given, and drunken; and all this done in remembrance of Christ” (p. 290);
therefore, to do otherwise is misuse and disobedience. Rogers continues,
the Papists abuse the holy sacrament…. hence the adoration of the bread, even as God himself… hence the carrying about, in pompous procession, of the wafer-god; and hence the popish feast called Corpus Christi day. The right consideration hereof hath moved all the churches reformed to shew their detestation hereof, both by their sermons and writings” (p. 286).
Burnet agrees with Rogers and the Protestant
consensus, calling such practices “gross idolatry” (p. 445). Like Rogers he
reasons, “consuming the elements is a part of the institution” (p. 447). Though
Rogers is stirred up with indignation of an Elijah, the Restoration Bishop
gives generous space to a counterargument: “since the declared object of
worship is Jesus Christ, believed to be there present, then, whether he is
present or not, the worship terminates in him.” (p. 445). To this counter the
Bishop replies, first, “we do not pretend to determine how far this may be
pardoned by God; whose mercies are infinite, and who does certainly consider
chiefly the hearts of his creatures, and is merciful to their infirmities, and
to such errors as arise out of their weakness, their hearts being sincere
before him” (p. 446); second, by this argument all idolatry is excused, since
those who practice it sincerely believe their worship is directed to deity; yet
the scriptures do not excuse idolatry on account of sincerity. He acknowledges
it is “a sin of ignorance” rather than viciousness, but “there being no command
for it [in the scriptures], no hint given about it, nor any insinuation given
of any such practice in the beginnings of Christianity.” Regarding elevation
Burnet comments, “there is not a word of it in the gospel; nor is it mentioned
by St. Paul: neither Justin Martyr nor Cyril of Jerusalem speak of it; there is
nothing concerning it neither in the Constitutions, nor in the Areopagite. In
those first ages all the elevation that is spoken of is, the lifting up of
their hearts to God” (p. 448).
Beveridge advances three arguments against
these “sad superstitions, yea, transgressions” (p. 501). First, like Rogers and
Burnet, he observes these practices defy the
verba Domini — “[n]ot take and reserve it, not take and carry it about,
not take and worship it, but ‘take and eat” (p. 510). Second, they overthrow
the nature of a sacrament, an argument not made by either Rogers or Burnet.
This argument differs from that made in the second paragraph, which concerns
the elimination of the sign; here Beveridge focuses instead on the loss of
correspondence between sign and signified. The Bishop explains,
according to Augustine’s rule, ‘If sacraments have not a certain resemblance of the things whereof they are sacraments, they are no sacraments at all.’ Now, wherein is there any resemblance betwixt the body of Christ and bread, but only in the eating? Even because the one received by faith nourisheth and preserveth the spiritual, as the other received into the stomach doth the natural life. The bread itself hath no resemblance at all of his body, neither hath the bread, as reserved, or carried about, or worshipped, any such resemblance: all the resemblance it hath is in its feeding the body as Christ doth the soul. Christ is the nourishment of our souls, as bread is the nourishment of our bodies; and therefore doth he sometimes call his body bread, and at other times bread his body (ibid).
His third line of argument is a survey of
patristic arguments against reservation. Then, like Burnet, though not at so
great length, he responds to a counterargument:
I wish them to consider what Gregory Nyssen long ago said, ‘He that worshippeth a creature, though he do it in the name of Christ, is an idolater, giving the name of Christ to an idol.’ And therefore, let them not be angry at us for concluding them to be idolaters… and for asserting that the sacrament ought not to be reserved, carried about, or worshipped. (p. 512-513).
More than a century later, Browne gives far
less space to the prohibition than do the earlier divines; indeed, he relegates
it to a brief footnote at the end of his discussion of this Article.
Nevertheless, he agrees the practices should be rejected because they are based
on an erroneous doctrine (transubstantiation), lack biblical warrant, and are
unknown to the early church.
The Homily Against Strife and Contention (from the
First Book of Homilies, 1547) urges, “Let us read the Scripture, that by
reading thereof, we may be made the better livers, rather than the more
contentious disputers.” The same aim animates the Articles. Rather than a
tangle of theological niceties, they are written in plain, direct language and
leave aside all sorts of questions debated by divines Roman, Lutheran, and
Reformed. Not “bind heavy burdens, grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s
shoulders” (Matt. 23:4) nor “give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which
minister questions, rather than godly edifying” (I Tim. 1:4), rather, the
Articles seek after that which is prayed for in the Communion liturgy, that the
Church may be filled with the spirit of truth, unity, and concord, that all who
confess the name of Christ may agree in the truth of God’s holy Word and live
in unity and godly love. In other words, the articles are an instrument both of
reform and of comprehension. The aim is ultimately pastoral, not polemical. Article
XXVIII perfectly illustrates this aim. It does not seek to explain away the
mystery of the sacrament; neither to pry into the manner by which communion
with Christ occurs, nor bind the church to a particular theory of metaphysics.
The Article seeks simply to affirm what the scriptures reveal concerning the
Lord’s Supper without contradicting anything else taught by them, so that those
who participate in the sacrament would not profane nor abuse it, which would
cause them great harm, but in obedience to the Lord’s institution duly use it,
and enjoy the great benefits offered therein.
[1] I have been unable to track down a copy with
original spelling. This is how the text appears in Vol. II of Gibson’s (1897) The
Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England and Green’s (1898) The Christian Creed and the Creeds of
Christendom.
[2] Article II former affirms the Chalcedonian doctrine that our Lord’s human and divine natures are two natures are whole, entire, and unmixed, yet are permanently, indivisibly joined together in one person; Article IV affirms that, following his resurrection, Christ ascended into heaven and remains there until his second advent to judge the world.
Drew Nathaniel Keane is a Lecturer in the Department of Writing and Linguistics at Georgia Southern University. You can read more of his work at drewkeane.com.
Baptism is not only a sign of profession, and mark of difference, whereby Christian men are discerned from others that be not christened, but it is also a sign of Regeneration or New-Birth, whereby, as by an instrument, they that receive Baptism rightly are grafted into the Church; the promises of the forgiveness of sin, and of our adoption to be the sons of God by the Holy Ghost, are visibly signed and sealed; Faith is confirmed, and Grace increased by virtue of prayer unto God.
The Baptism of young Children is in any wise to be retained in the Church, as most agreeable with the institution of Christ.
by the Rev. Dr. D. Jonathan Grieser
Historical Background
Baptismal theology in the sixteenth century was shaped by
the great debates of the Protestant and Catholic Reformations—over
justification by faith, the nature and efficacy of the sacraments,
ecclesiology. It is possible, however, that if a substantial and persistent
critique of the practice of infant baptism hadn’t emerged in the early 1520s,
that the topic of baptism would hardly have received mention in many of the
era’s confessions and formularies.
Just as Huldreich Zwingli was attempting to convince
Zurich’s city fathers to enact reforms, from within his circle of supporters
emerged a group that began to call into question the traditional theology and
practice of infant baptism. In a series of treatises and public debates,
Zwingli engaged these dissidents who were at the same time among the most
articulate advocates for thoroughgoing religious reform. In the course of these
debates, Zwingli crafted a theology of baptism and a sacramental theology that
would bring him into sharp conflict with Martin Luther and ultimately result in
the division of Lutheran and Reformed movements.[1]
Zwingli’s efforts to
convince the doubters on infant baptism failed. In January 1525, a group of
men, many of them among Zwingli’s closest associates, baptized each other.
Zwingli and the Zurich City Council moved quickly to outlaw the practice. In
1527, the first Zurich citizen was executed for rebaptizing. The group, and
similar groups that arose elsewhere in the Holy Roman Empire and the
Netherlands, came to be known as Anabaptists—rebaptizers, a name given them in
order to bring them under the old Roman Imperial law code that punished
rebaptizers with execution.
In 1534, Anabaptists and their supporters gained control of
the city of Münster
in Westfalia. Dominated by apocalyptic fervor, these Anabaptists maintained
control of Muenster for eighteen months. A coalition of Protestant and Catholic
forces eventually laid siege to the city. As it continued, and as conditions in
the city worsened, community of goods and plural marriage were introduced. The
spectacle of these Anabaptists controlling a large town in Germany where they
awaited Christ’s Second Coming brought terror to religious and political
leaders throughout Europe, including England. For decades, the specter of the
Anabaptist Kingdom of Münster haunted European authorities.
The memory of the Anabaptist Kingdom of Münster shaped
the 39 Articles, especially Article XXXVIII, which refers specifically to
Anabaptists, as well as Articles XXXVII and XXXIX, which address oaths and the
civil magistrate. These issues often were points of contention for Anabaptists,
who survived in spite of intense persecution. Anabaptists were especially
numerous in the Netherlands. Because of English and Dutch commercial ties, as
well as proximity, Anabaptists made their way to England as well.[2]
It’s also worth pointing out that the execution (burning at the stake) of two
Flemish Anabaptists in London in 1575 was the first execution of Protestants in
England under Queen Elizabeth I.[3]
While Anabaptists appealed to any number of New Testament
texts to support believer’s baptism, their favorite prooftext was Mark 16:16: “The
one who believes and is baptized will be saved; but the one who does not
believe will be condemned.” For Anabaptists, confession of faith was necessary
for effective baptism and to ensure salvation. Because infants could neither
have faith or confess it publicly, infant baptism was invalid.
In his writings against the Anabaptists, many of them his
former friends and associates, Zwingli made the case that baptism is an outward
sign that distinguishes Christians from non-Christians. Zwingli had compared
baptism to the sign of the cross that Swiss soldiers wore on their uniforms to
distinguish themselves from their enemies. But for Zwingli, baptism was little
more than that sign of membership.
Zwingli made another move that would be crucial for
Protestant theologies of baptism. In the absence of strong scriptural warrant
for infant baptism in the New Testament, he appealed to the example of
circumcision as a sign of the covenant God made with Abraham. Just as male
infants were circumcised as a sign of the old covenant, infant baptism was a
sign of the new covenant God made with humanity through Jesus Christ. With the
analogy to circumcision in place, Zwingli would also begin to use “covenant”
more extensively to understand the relationship between God and humans.[4]
Baptismal Theology in Article XXVII
The brief article on baptism addresses explicitly only one
of the issues raised by Anabaptists, namely their rejection of infant baptism.
Building on the discussion of the nature of sacraments in Article XXVI, its
authors sought to negotiate between Zwingli’s outright rejection of a
transformation in the soul effected by the waters of baptism and the Roman
Catholic doctrine that baptism was necessary to salvation and that unbaptized
infants were unregenerate and damned.
On the one hand, the article begins with a clear rejection of a Zwinglian understanding: “Baptism is not only a sign of profession and mark of difference.” It struggles to identify the relationship between the water of baptism and the profession of faith and the internal state of the individual’s soul. The language that is used suggests some sort of internal change. Baptism is “also a sign of Regeneration or New-Birth.” How that happens is unclear.
The article states that this regeneration takes place “… as
by an instrument,” a word which has several meanings in English: the obvious
one, a tool or device, but it can also have the sense of a written record or
document, a legal device. Article XXVII retains that ambiguity. Baptism is evidence of the
regeneration and new-birth of Christians; it grafts them on to the church and
promises them forgiveness of sins but there is no sense that baptism
objectively accomplishes those effects. The use of “instrument” threads a
needle skillfully. On the one hand, it suggests that something happens: grafting,
forgiveness of sins, etc. but retains the ambiguity that such results might not
occur in all cases as well as leaving unspecified how precisely those effects
come about. In short, “instrument” states that these effects occur from
baptism, but does not clarify how they occur, or if they necessarily occur.[5]
Another striking element in this article is the relative unimportance of sin. There is no mention of original sin, thus no necessity for infant baptism to remove its stain. While sin, both original sin and the questions of sins committed after baptism are treated elsewhere in the Thirty-Nine Articles, the lack of a reference to original sin here suggests that the article’s authors may have been closer to Zwingli’s position (that baptism cannot wash away the stain of original sin because material things cannot have spiritual effects) than to the Roman Catholic one. It’s also quite dramatically different than the view on baptism expressed in the Confessio Augustana:
“Of
Baptism they teach that it is necessary to salvation,
and that through Baptism is offered the grace of God, and that children are to
be baptized who, being offered to God through Baptism are received into God’s
grace.”[6]
Here, baptism is necessary to salvation. The grace of God is offered through baptism and those who are baptized are received into God’s grace. The clarity of the Lutheran position underscores the ambiguity of Article XXVII’s formulation. (In the Ten Articles of 1536, not only is baptism declared necessary to salvation and that it removes the stain of original sin, it also states unequivocally that unbaptized infants are damned).[7]
Article XXVII does mention forgiveness of sins. Here, too,
the language is more opaque than clarifying. The “promise of forgiveness of
sins” is among those things that are visibly signed and sealed in baptism.
Salvation, regeneration, new birth are promised or made possible through
baptism but there is no guarantee. To put it another way: baptism is not
efficacious ex opere operato.
However ambiguous Article XVII may be, the rite as constructed
in the Book of Common Prayer leaves little wiggle room. Comparison of the
article on baptism with the baptismal liturgy of the Book of Common Prayer
reveals the contradiction between the stated position of the Article and the
theology of the rite:
DEARELY
beloved, for asmuche as all men bee conceyved and borne in synne, and that oure
Saviour Christ saith, none can entre into the kingdom of God (except he be
regenerate and borne a newe of water and the holy Ghost); I beseche you to call
upon God the father through our Lord Jesus Christ, that of his bounteous
mercie, he will graunt to these children, that thing which by nature they
cannot have, that they may be Baptized with water and the holy ghoste, and
receyved into Christes holy church, and be made lyvely membres of the same.
(1559)
While sin receives short shrift in Article XXVII, it
dominates the rite in the Book of Common Prayer. All people are conceived and
born in sin and (quoting John 3:5), no one can enter the Kingdom of God unless
they are born of water and the Holy Spirit. This language conforms to Article
IX (Of Original or Birth Sin) that “there is no condemnation for them that
believe and are baptized.,” alluding to Mark 16:16.
In Article XXVII and in the Elizabethan Book of Common
Prayer, there seems to be a groping toward a baptismal theology that abandoned
the traditional understanding of the effects of baptism being the washing away
of original sin and as necessary to salvation. The rubrics in the BCP observe
that in the Early Church, baptism was commonly observed only on Easter and
Pentecost in the presence of the whole congregation. Recognizing the difficulty
of enforcing this change, the BCP encouraged baptisms to take place on Sundays
in public but acknowledged (and provided a rite for) private baptisms in homes.
Among the stated reasons for preferring public baptisms were the symbolism of
the newly baptized being welcomed into the community of the faithful and the
opportunity for those present to recall their own baptismal vows.
The final sentence of Article XXVII is also revealing in its
tentativeness. Expressing a preference for infant baptism “as most agreeable to
the institution of Christ” it offers no scriptural warrant for that statement
and doesn’t appeal to Mk 10:13-16, which is the appointed gospel in the baptismal
rite in the BCP. Without such supporting arguments and in the absence of a
clear statement in the article that baptism is necessary to salvation and
washes away original sin, the authors fall back on custom as Elizabethan Book
of Common Prayer bows to tradition and practice in permitting private baptism.
It may be that such inconsistency is a hallmark of Anglican
baptismal theology. Even the 1979 Book of Common Prayer with its robust
baptismal theology has failed to change significantly baptismal practices in
the Episcopal Church. We may view the baptismal covenant as a clear expression
of the Christian faith and what it means to be a follower of Jesus, but in
reality we fall back on the traditional practice of infant baptism and sever
the link between the sacrament of baptism and the Christian life into which
baptism initiates us.
D. Jonathan Grieser
(ThD Harvard University) is Rector of Grace Episcopal Church, Madison, Wisconsin.
A former Anabaptist (Mennonite), he loves baptizing babies.
[1] The emergence of Anabaptism from within Zwingli’s circle was hotly debated in the 20th century and overviews are widely available. The interpretation here that Zwingli’s baptismal theology, sacramental theology, and reliance on “covenant” were crafted largely in debate with the Anabaptists reflects my own perspective.
[2] The classic study of
Anabaptism in England is Irvin B. Horst, The
Radical Brethren: Anabaptism and the English Reformation to 1558, (Nieuwkoop:
B. De Graaf, 1972). It is crucial to distinguish 16th century
Anabaptism both on the continent and in England from the emergence in the
seventeenth century of Baptists in England, even though English Baptists did
engage in conversation with Dutch Mennonites.
[3] Alastair Duke, “Martyrs
with a difference: Dutch Anabaptist victims of Elizabethan persecution,” (Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis),
80/3 2000, 264.
[4] When writing in German,
Zwingli would use the words “Bund” or
“Bündnis,” the same words used
for the Swiss confederacy, thus cementing the relationship between baptism and
citizenship.
[5] Some may argue that here
instrument means “tool” and only tool, but I’m struck by how much clearer the
article would read if that phrase were omitted: “it is also a sign of Regeneration or New-Birth, whereby, …, they that
receive Baptism rightly are grafted into the Church…”
Although in the visible Church the evil be ever mingled with the good, and sometimes the evil have chief authority in the Ministration of the Word and Sacraments, yet forasmuch as they do not the same in their own name, but in Christ’s, and do minister by his commission and authority, we may use their Ministry, both in hearing the Word of God, and in receiving the Sacraments. Neither is the effect of Christ’s ordinance taken away by their wickedness, nor the grace of God’s gifts diminished from such as by faith, and rightly, do receive the Sacraments ministered unto them; which be effectual, because of Christ’s institution and promise, although they be ministered by evil men.
Nevertheless, it appertaineth to the discipline of the Church, that inquiry be made of evil Ministers, and that they be accused by those that have knowledge of their offences; and finally, being found guilty, by just judgment be deposed.
by the Rev. Dr. Heather McCance
In the wake of the #MeToo movement, there has been a renewed conversation about how, or whether, one can continue to appreciate the work of someone who is known to be a sexual predator. Can we continue to appreciate the comedy of Bill Cosby, the films of Harvey Weinstein, the music of R Kelly? Can we separate the art from the artist?
Similar instincts kick in when we think about the possibility of receiving sacramental ministry from a priest who is “wicked,” someone who has molested children, or who has sexually harassed adults, or who has embezzled funds from the church, or whatever the specific sin might be. Many of us simply would have a visceral reaction against receiving holy communion from such a priest, nor would we want to be baptized by, nor have our children baptized, by someone like that.
Leaving aside the question of separating art from artist, can one separate the sacrament from the minister? Article 26 says, emphatically, yes.
The question of the worthiness of the minister impacting the efficacy of the sacrament has been around since at least the third century. Tertullian wrote in his treatise De Baptismo that heretics did not believe in the same God or the same Christ as Christians do and that therefore their baptism was not truly a Christian baptism. St. Cyprian of Carthage agreed, noting that former heretics seeking to join the true Church were quite happy to submit to true baptism, themselves understanding that being baptized by heretics outside the church could hardly have gained them admittance to the church (Epistle 72). Nonetheless, Stephen, Bishop of Rome, disagreed with the position of these fathers of the Church and, in the first such exercise of papal authority, commanded obedience to the position that any baptism performed with water and in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit is valid. This has been official teaching of the Western Church since the mid-third century; the sacrament is valid regardless of the flawed beliefs of the minister.
In the fourth century, St. John Chrysostom leant his agreement to the argument, writing, “God uses to work even by unworthy persons, and in no respect is the grace of baptism damaged by the conduct of the priest: else would the receiver suffer loss” (Homily VIII on First Corinthians). St. Augustine went further more than a century after Stephen, asserting that it is not the ministers themselves who confer either remission of sins or the grace of the sacraments. Instead, the Holy Spirit works through the imperfect human beings who minister the sacraments to the faithful. After all, he writes, all human ministers are sinners, the bad and the worse, and it is only God, who is perfect, who can confer grace upon we human creatures (On Baptism, Against the Donatists).
Unsurprisingly, however, that did not put an end to the conversation. Throughout the middle ages there were members of the clergy, from those in the upper echelons of the hierarchy to local friars, whose conduct served to elicit scandal among the faithful laity. Whether wine, women, or wealth, abuse of power or abuse of persons, the poor conduct of a seemingly large number of priests has often been cited as one of the reasons the Reformation took hold of the popular imagination.
Given the situation of the Church in England through the latter sixteenth century, which swerved from Catholic to Protestant to Catholic and back again, it was entirely predictable that the question of the worthiness of the priest administering sacraments would again come under scrutiny. Could a priest who had turned his back on the pope administer a valid sacrament? Could a married priest?
As with much of the formation of the Church of England, and seen particularly in the Thirty-Nine Articles, a middle ground between the ways of the Anabaptists on one hand the Roman church on the other was sought. The Anabaptists sought a pure church led by truly holy ministers, and railed against the impropriety of receiving sacraments from ungodly ministers. Arguing from John 9:31, that God does not hear the prayer of sinners, they suggested that only a holy person could therefore effectively ask God to bless bread, wine, and water. The Roman Church, in the Council of Trent (1545-63), had recently upheld the teaching that the effectiveness of the sacraments is safeguarded not by the holiness of the priest but by his intent as he presides over the sacred mysteries and by virtue of his ordination.
Both of these positions raised questions for the leaders of the English Church. On one hand, as Augustine had written, all human beings are sinners and thus determining how sinful a priest has to be before the effectiveness of the sacrament is impacted is not a helpful road to travel. Indeed, it is not Christ who taught that God doesn’t hear the prayer of sinners, but the man born blind offering what was perhaps common wisdom of the day.
On the other hand, the Roman doctrine of intent might raise worrisome doubts about the effectiveness of the sacrament on any given day. What if the priest was thinking about his grocery list at the critical point in the prayer of consecration? What if the priest, angry at the crying of a baby, was thinking uncharitable thoughts towards the child as he poured water upon the head of the bawling brat? If ‘intent’ of the priest is the standard by which a sacrament’s effectiveness is to be judged, how can anyone ever be certain that any sacrament ever has been truly celebrated?
The English Reformers turned, as they were wont to do, to the Scriptures for guidance. While silent on this particular question, some wisdom was nonetheless to be gleaned from Jesus’ words to the crowds and to his disciples to listen to the scribes and Pharisees who sit on the seat of Moses, while avoiding imitating their behaviour (Matthew 23:2-3). The behaviour or sinfulness of those in positions of authority is not the question here, but rather the authority their position lends to their words. In the opening words of this Article can also be heard something of an echo of the parable of the wheat and the tares (Matthew 13); in this world, good and evil are intermingled and ever shall be until the final harvest at the end of time, and this is true among the ranks of the clergy as well.
The Sacraments are a means of God conferring grace upon God’s people. Their given-ness by Christ is fundamental to their nature. To argue that the unworthiness or intent of the minister of the sacraments could in some way hinder their effectiveness is to argue that it is within the power of human beings to frustrate the gracious purposes and promises of God. Human ministers are simply God’s instruments, tools through which grace is given in the sacraments, and that grace happens regardless of the quality of the instrument. Article 26 firmly asserts that this is not the case.
The final paragraph of the Article deserves some attention. Even granted that the sacraments are effective regardless of the worthiness of the minister, the Church bears a huge responsibility to ensure that everything possible be done to prevent “evil Ministers” from gaining office. During the Reformation, that included examinations of conscience and renewed preparation regimes prior to ordination. Today in different parts of the Anglican Communion this could include everything from speaking to references to police records checks to psycho-sexual evaluations of postulants. Various Safe Church policies are in place to protect the vulnerable. Yet as Jesus said, there are still tares among the wheat. Whenever an accusation of wrongdoing is made against a priest “by those that have knowledge of their offences” it is absolutely incumbent upon the Church to take this seriously, to take action, to make inquiry, so that such people “by just judgement be deposed.”
So yes, we can separate the sacrament from the minister; the sacrament is a means of God’s grace regardless of the worthiness of the minister. However, the Church is constrained by the call of God’s justice and holiness to do all in its power to prevent and remove “evil Ministers” from places where they can do harm to God’s people.
The Rev. Dr. Heather McCance is a priest in the Anglican Church of Canada and serves as the Diocesan Ministry Developer for the Diocese of Rupert’s Land. Her role and her passion is to equip the saints for the work of ministry, lay and ordained. She has particular skills in mentoring (both in mentoring others herself and in training others to be mentors), and holds a Doctor of Ministry degree from Tyndale Seminary in Toronto in ministry leadership.
Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men’s profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God’s good will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our Faith in him.
There are two Sacraments ordained of Christ our Lord in the Gospel, that is to say, Baptism, and the Supper of the Lord.
Those five commonly called Sacraments, that is to say, Confirmation, Penance, Orders, Matrimony, and Extreme Unction, are not to be counted for Sacraments of the Gospel, being such as have grown partly of the corrupt following of the Apostles, partly are states of life allowed in the Scriptures, but yet have not like nature of Sacraments with Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper, for that they have not any visible sign or ceremony ordained of God.
The Sacraments were not ordained of Christ to be gazed upon, or to be carried about, but that we should duly use them. And in such only as worthily receive the same, they have a wholesome effect or operation: but they that receive them unworthily, purchase to themselves damnation, as Saint Paul saith.”
by Lucas C. Crossland
The word ‘sacrament’ derives from the Latin meaning sacred and the Greek meaning mystery. If we put two and two together, then we have to say that a sacrament is a sacred mystery. It is something that has an infinite depth of meaning that, if we try to uncover, we may only scratch the surface, but it is worth trying.
The Catechism in the the 1979 Book of Common Prayer tells us three things about the sacraments:
“Q. What are the sacraments?
A. The sacraments are outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace, given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace.
Q. What is grace?
A. Grace is God’s favor towards us, unearned and undeserved; by grace God forgives our sins, enlightens our minds, stirs our hearts, and strengthens our wills.
Q. What are the two great sacraments of the Gospel?
A. The two great sacraments given by Christ to his church are Holy Baptism and the Holy Eucharist.”
(p.857-858).
Bearing these questions and answers in mind, we must now examine the “two great sacraments of the Gospel.”
In Baptism, we are united to Christ in his death and resurrection, sealed by the Spirit, adopted by God thus becoming members of Christ’s body, and, in turn, we become heirs to the Kingdom. The 1979 prayer book puts it this way, “Holy Baptism is the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ’s body, the Church, and inheritors of the Kingdom of God The outward sign of Baptism is water, and the inward grace is unity with Christ, new birth, forgiveness of sins, and new life” (p. 858).
Baptism is demanding, and it requires daily effort for the Christian. In Baptism, Christ’s identity becomes ours. This sacrament requires grace to sustain us in this new identity. In a homily given to early Christians in Jerusalem, Cyril says, “it is right to call you ‘Christs’ or anointed ones… You have become ‘Christs’ by receiving the sign of the Holy Spirit…When you emerged from the pool of sacred waters you were anointed in a manner corresponding to Christ’s anointing.” Because we have become “anointed ones” at our baptism, we have a responsibility. We need only look at the covenant we made at Baptism: to reject evil, to accept Jesus as our savior, to love others as ourselves, and to seek justice and peace among everyone, not just those we like. The prophet Isaiah puts it this way “I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness” (42: 6-7). There is no undoing the covenant because it is both part of our identity as God’s Beloved and our union with Christ. Because of our Baptism, we are all God’s children, God’s Beloved. St. Hilary reminds us, “Everything that happened to Christ lets us know that, after the bath of water, the Holy Spirit swoops down upon us from high heaven and that, adopted by the Father’s voice, we become [children] of God” (Catechism of the Catholic Church 537).
Our Baptism stems from Christ’s baptism. I’m sure we all can remember the story, but the most important part is this: “This is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 13:16-17). Our work begins with baptism, not ends. Acts tells us, “he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him” (10:38). Matthew echoes Acts, “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit” (4:1). And the Spirit as Isaiah tells us “brings justice to the nations” (42:1). Baptism for us is also the beginning–it is not a thing of the past but a daily dying to sin and living into the “risen life of Jesus Christ our Savior” (Book of Common Prayer p. 307).
If we examine our lives through the lens of our baptism, then we should not have to fear St. Paul’s warning of eating and drinking judgement against ourselves (1 Cor. 11:29).
The grace given to us at Baptism is sustained by frequent reception of Holy Communion, for it is on these two great sacraments, given by Christ, that our salvation depends.
Again, a good place that defines the Holy Eucharist is the Catechism:
“Q. What is the Holy Eucharist?
A. The Holy Eucharist is the sacrament commanded by Christ for the continual remembrance of his life, death, and resurrection, until his coming again.
Q. What is the outward and visible sign in the Eucharist?
A. The outward and visible sign in the Eucharist is bread and wine, given and received according to Christ’s Command.
Q. What is the inward and spiritual grace given in the Eucharist?
A. The inward and spiritual grace in the Holy Communion is the Body and Blood of Christ given to his people, and received by faith.
Q. What are the benefits which we receive in the Lord’s Supper?
A. The benefits we receive are the forgiveness of our sins, the strengthening of our union with Christ and one another, and the foretaste of the heavenly banquet which is our nourishment in eternal life”
(p. 859-860).
Paul tells us, “For I received from the Lord what I also handed onto you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor. 11:23-26). The Eucharist then is something given to us by Christ himself, “a perpetual memory of that his precious death and sacrifice, until his coming again” (BCP p.334). The Eucharist is our “sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.”
It is the risen body of Christ that we experience in the Eucharist, for that is how the early disciples experienced him as well. Our encounter with Christ in the Lord’s Supper is a resurrection experience. Everytime we gather as the Body of Christ, we experience Christ’s risen presence among us as well as in the Eucharistic bread and wine. In her book, Life in Christ, Julia Gatta explains our encounter of Christ in the Liturgy this way,
Over the centuries, and despite wide variation in language and culture, the structure of the eucharistic liturgy has remained fundamentally the same. There is the Liturgy of the Word, followed by the Liturgy of the Sacrament. Christ’s risen presence suffuses the entire rite. He is present in the gathered community, for the Church is the Body of Christ. He speaks to us through the scriptural lessons and through the proclamation of the gospel. His Holy Spirit animates our intercessions. Above all, we offer the Eucharistic Prayer-the Great Thanksgiving- ‘by him and with him and in him.’ And like the disciples at Emmaus, we know him with compelling vividness in the breaking of bread, as Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives us that bread which is his very self. In Holy Communion we are united with him and with one another, constituted once again as the Body of Christ. (p. 41)
God has given us this most wonderful sacrament that we may always “perceive in ourselves the fruit of redemption” (Book of Common Prayer p. 834).
The 1979 Book of Common Prayer clearly makes a distinction between Baptism and Holy Eucharist and the other five “Sacramental Rites,” confirmation, ordination, holy matrimony, reconciliation of a penitent, and unction. The Prayerbook makes this distinction because of its original definition of a sacrament with a clear exception, “given by Christ.” While the other five rites are means of grace, they are not necessary for every person, nor are they given to us by Christ, but are given to us through Tradition (ex. marriage and ordination). Baptism and the Supper of the Lord follow the definition of the prayerbook wholly in that they are “given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace.”
Lucas C. Crossland lives in Sewanee, TN where he manages grants for a local non-profit. He holds a B.A. in Religious Studies from the University of the South in Sewanee, TN.
Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men’s profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God’s good will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our Faith in him.
There are two Sacraments ordained of Christ our Lord in the Gospel, that is to say, Baptism, and the Supper of the Lord.
Those five commonly called Sacraments, that is to say, Confirmation, Penance, Orders, Matrimony, and Extreme Unction, are not to be counted for Sacraments of the Gospel, being such as have grown partly of the corrupt following of the Apostles, partly are states of life allowed in the Scriptures; but yet have not like nature of Sacraments with Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper, for that they have not any visible sign or ceremony ordained of God.
The Sacraments are not ordained of Christ to be gazed upon, or to be carried about, but that we should duly use them. And in such only as worthily receive the same, they have a wholesome effect or operation: but they that receive them unworthily, purchase to themselves damnation, as Saint Paul saith.
by the Reverend Jane Gober
It is astonishing to consider that a statement about the two primary sacraments would need to balance the principalities of Europe with the growing power of the educated middle classes and rapidly evolving theological debates and be true to God so that we might continue in communal prayer and worship faithfully. Yet that background is important to remember when we are looking at the Thirty-Nine Articles, and especially Article 25. What is or is not happening in the Eucharist and baptism may be a mystery, but at the time affairs of state and peace in the streets and expectations regarding eternal life and death rested in the interpretations of these two sacraments.
In the Faith and Order paper titled Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry from the World Council of Churches (1982), one baptism (that is always good forever) and communion (locally adapted) are two of the primary markers of what makes something a church and something else not. Both baptism and communion are actions that Jesus participates in according to the Gospels, whereas other sacramentals (anointing the sick, ordination, marriage) may have New Testament warrant, their bona fides aren’t as direct as baptism and Eucharist. While they may not be the first thing that generous outsiders would declare as our most obvious unifying features, for insiders it should.
Jesus himself is not reported to have baptized anyone himself, but the Gospel of Matthew concludes with his commission to “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” (Mt.28.19). In the Acts of the Apostles, baptism is mentioned 18 times, sometimes with the apostles baptizing multitudes at once. It is in Paul’s letters however that the model of what baptism means for the Jesus movement emerges: he connects baptism of the follower to Jesus’s death and resurrection. It is in this initiation ritual that the followers of Jesus die with him and are buried with him as they go under the water; and as they emerge from the waters they share in the resurrection life (Rom. 6:1–4; cf. Col. 2:12). It is also to be felt that many of the occasions in the later Gospels where Jesus is in the context of water (wells, baths, rivers, seas) and conversion and revelation and healing – all of these moments stream into the broad depth of the sacrament of Baptism.
Baptism doesn’t garner as much of the political wrangling in the 16th-century settings of the Forty-Two Articles which became the Thirty-Nine, with this Article 25 having little altered in the intervening years. Baptism was not stoking the same flames as communion did—some of which difference may arise from the English reformers being closer academically with the Lutheran reformers (who were comfortable with infant baptism) and less so with the Anabaptists (who were not), and furthermore, the Church of England’s leading minds being enamored of the Orthodox who baptize, confirm, and commune children all at once. Their choices had direct implications for the wider population for whom infant baptism remained a cultural touchstone until recently. In Article 27 the exploration is taken deeper, and the practice of baptizing children in commended—certainly to the disdain of a swath of the more strident reforming parties. Otherwise however, whether baptism is once and for all (or repeatable) does not gain a mention; nor do any of the other details that current liturgics and theology emphasize, such as it being a public sacrament that is central to Christian vocation.
Eucharist, communion, or the Lord’s Supper is shaped by the Gospel accounts of the supper before Jesus’ death, as well as the Pauline statement in 1 Corinthians. Like baptism however, many of the occasions of Jesus’ feasting are present in our deepest layers of understanding of who we are to become in Jesus through the bread and wine. Here in the Thirty-Nine Articles Eucharist garners several more specific articles (Articles 28, 29, 30, 31) than did baptism. Taken all together this 25th Article and the four others sum up much of the theological and soteriological issues of the time: transubstantiation (probably not); is this rite and sacrament a re-enactment of the cross (no); who should receive what parts (all for all); whether anything in the direction of a monstrance is a good thing (they say no); and the connection of real presence, intention and reception. Here specifically in Article 25 the focus is on the last two concerns: both of which have clear Reformationist (and anti-catholic) declarations. Which leaves an intriguing subject of substance to the work of the church in society— the other clergy-action churchy-things:
‘These five sacraments, generally called sacraments, ie confirmation, repentance, ordination, marriage and extreme anointing, are not to be counted among the sacraments of the Gospel, partly because of the corrupt discipleship of the apostles, ..and…. because they have no visible sign or God-given ceremony.’ (mildly translated into modern English) Why are ritual actions with inner graces (sacramentals) not sacraments with a capital S? According to this 25th Article, because while they may have happened in the Gospels and even in the context of Jesus (marriage), and sometimes in his name (healing) there isn’t much of a commission to go marry or ordain people, whereas Jesus certainly tells his followers to baptize and commune. It is also true that across traditions and interpretations baptism and Eucharist have direct connections with salvation, whereas the five other sacramentals offer comfort, inspiration, confidence and grace, they are not outward signs of eternal redemption. Furthermore, as is stated in the article, the argument is that the Roman church had polluted and messed with the other sacramentals so much as to dissolve their connection to anything biblical.
A young person once asked me (in less complicated words), if the priest baptizes someone in Lake Coeur D’Alene, does it then mean that everyone else who gets in the water is now baptized? And if so for how long does the effect last? The final concern of the 25th Article is about the intention of reception, and the answer would be no, if you are not intending to be baptized (or if your parents/sponsors are not so intending) then you can jump in the same lake without accidental sacramental exposure. The beauty here is that it pushes open wide the idea that it is not our action or ideas that matter so much as God meeting our earnest faith through the sacraments. It does of course damn anyone who has ill intent in their reception, but hopefully, it is an article statement with limited application.
Is this 25th Article the Article about the sacraments that this church would write today? Almost certainly not. We would most likely not choose to trash talk ecumenical neighbors who disagree with us, and in the last century substantial official work has been done toward common patterns in liturgy and better mutual understanding regarding the two sacraments. Furthermore, it is hard to dive into the Eucharistic articles and find much room for even mild ‘anglo-Catholic’ practices which are considered normatively as playing in-bounds. In trying to forge a way of church life and practice that is both evolved by Reformation understanding and attentive to the grace of ritual practices (and not intentionally fermenting violent disagreement) what we have in the 25th Article (and its connected articles) is a substantially broad-church Reformation-leaning article. Some might argue that the place where we have found our liturgical practice to be is exactly what they imagined, it is certainly fair to note that we generally have become more open and generous than this document expects, while also being much more tolerant of what the authors might have considered themselves to have been cutting out.
The other glaring difference is easily seen by returning to the WCC statement on baptism, Eucharist, and ministry (which if you have not read you should): a contemporary collaborative document with some similar intentions to the political and theological balancing act of the Thirty-Nine Articles. It specifically mentions that our inability to hold varying interpretations of our fellow Christians in love and forgiveness is a very mark of the fractured-ness of humanity, and the church, which is exactly what Christ calls us to be agents of healing for. Furthermore, the 25th Article makes no explicit connection between the two sacraments being different signs of similar unity with God in Christ and each other. The language of both our current BCP rites have strong connections and echoes of each other, yet this sacred interwovenness isn’t present, mostly because it may not have been acknowledged or prominent.
However, most importantly, it is the silence on the connection between these two sacraments and the Easter life that is most distant from how we would draft an article on the sacraments today. This emphasis I believe to be holy and good and what I practice, but it is also a foundation that none of the original authors expressed: that the reign of God, and the risen life in Jesus, is deeply critical to what it means when we put our trust in the real presence of Christ in the sacraments. The sacraments and their meaning and ‘effectiveness’ emerge out of the whole Christ event—his entire ministry, his death, and his resurrection (and ongoing presence). The articles only convey an explicit interest in how communion is connected to Jesus’ death. As a cradle American Episcopalian who has no memory of anything but our current prayer book, this is a striking difference between the sacramental outline of the articles and how we celebrate the sacraments of Christ together now. This resurrection emphasis certainly comes from deeper biblical scholarship and the ecumenical work in both theology and liturgy in the 20th century. Yet make no mistake, if we were to solely play by the rules of these lovely articles it would be easier to remove the piscina than it is to find an alleluia.
What strikes me the most after having spent more time than I ever have with the Thirty-Nine Articles, and specifically with the 25th one, is how within just the category of the Episcopal clergy, how many I have served with and received from whose belief and practice is not considered out of bounds by current standards, ordination rites or our catechism; yet by this document would be considered so. I love the complex dance of the church that I have, one that cautiously trusts the idea that if we pray together we are together, and that difference is beautiful and full of grace. Yet to look at it from the lens of these articles is to wonder if we are too quick to overlook the fragility and danger of this experiment. These Articles did much to offer road rules for religious peace across generations of bloodshed in the name of Christian unity in diversity, but it could be argued that it also created a tepid church that blanded itself into irrelevance. I am blessed because our tables and fonts are surrounded by a much broader array of hearts and intentions than the Thirty-Nine Articles imagined, and I also hope that this, like the many streams of biblical imagery that fill both the sacraments, is a way in which the fullness of the presence of Christ is truly present in our life together.
The Rev. Jane Gober is a priest, pastor, teacher and lifelong formation advocate. Currently serving as the Interim Rector at Grace Episcopal Church in Pemberton, New Jersey, she previously forged a 20+ year career in lifelong formation ministries across the Episcopal Church in the continental USA. She writes a blog, contributes to Planning for Rites and Rituals (Church Publishing), and consumes hours of baseball watching each year.
